


Coup De Foudre

by Needs_More_Lesbians



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reverse Crush AU, Slow Burn, is that a thing? it is now, they are both a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-09-19 06:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9423902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Needs_More_Lesbians/pseuds/Needs_More_Lesbians
Summary: In the same space of time it takes for her to pass the umbrella into his hand, Adrien Agreste falls in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the famous rain scene revisited!! I call this a reverse crush AU. I'm not sure if this will have multiple parts or not, but I hope you enjoy!!

Adrien Agreste had certainly had better days than this one.

 

His first day of school was something he’d been looking forward to since the age of ten. The prospect of spending time with children his own age for once was like a siren's song he didn’t have the power to resist. Still. Years came and went, countless starts of terms leaving him behind in their wake despite his mother’s insistence that she should be allowed to attend like the regular children.

 

Gabriels response, predictably, had of course been that his child was not normal, and shouldn’t be treated as such.

 

So Adrien was left alone, staring out of his window at the vanishing children with their backpacks and wishing more than anything he could be with them. Even the homework wasn’t enough to dissuade him from that.

 

His first day of school, now at the age of fifteen, had gone more horrendously than he would have liked.

 

The only person he knew, Chloe, was terrible to everyone in class for seemingly no reason. He’d embarrassed himself in front of the entire class because he hadn’t known how to respond to a roll call. And a nice girl who sat near him apparently hated him because she’d thought he’d been trying to stick gum on her chair.

 

And, he remarks dismally as he steps out onto the steps, it looked like it was going to rain.

 

Just his luck.

 

Defeated, Adrien resolves to sit on the top step and wait for his limo in order to avoid getting soaked. That was another thing, too-how come his father had to be so showy? He didn’t need a fancy car dropping him off places, it only gave him more attention than he needed and alienated him from everybody else. With a small sigh, he looked out into the street. The scent of rain hitting pavement had been one of his favorite smells since he was small, but it gave him no comfort now. If anything, the memory of himself and his mother watching the rain from their window in the living room made him feel lonelier than ever.

 

He draws his knees up to his chest, looking dismally at the rain as it came streaming down. No wonder Plagg had picked him. He was hopeless.

 

The sound of footsteps interrupted his less-than-happy reverie, making him stand quickly to avoid looking as dejected as he felt. As his father often said, image was very important. He glances to his side to see the girl from his class, feeling his chest sink.

 

She looks away when she meets his eyes. Of course. She still probably hates him.

 

But, to her credit, she’d also brought an umbrella. Better than him, that was for sure. Adrien frowns, looking back out into the street to try and defuse some of the tense silence. At least, until Marinette breaks it.

 

“...Hey.”

 

He blinks, looking back at her with a clear expression of uncertainty. Surprisingly, the emotion was mirrored on her face as she fumbls with her umbrella.

 

“I just wanted to apologize, you know, for snapping at you. It’s just that Chloe gets me so frustrated. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that.”

 

Adrien is completely taken aback. An apology was one thing he certainly hadn’t expected, least of all from someone whom he’d assumed hated him already. But Marinette is actually looking at him again, now, expression friendly and open.

 

“I know what it’s like to be new at everything. I transferred into a class half-way through the semester one time, and it was a nightmare.” She smiles, soft and understanding.

 

His heart skips a beat.

 

“So, I was thinking, let’s start over.” She draws herself up straight, though the top of her head still just barely is level with his chest, and holds out a hand. “I’m Marinette. And I really hope we can be friends!”

 

His eyes flickered from her outstretched palm to her face, still with that bright and friendly smile etched across it, a smile that he swears he can recall from somewhere…

 

In a jolt, it hits him that the smile looks just like his mother's.

 

Swallowing, he reaches out and takes her hand, shaking it once. It’s very small, and warm compared to the coolness of the rain. Marinette looks pleased with his reaction, releasing his hand soon after and turning to open the umbrella.

 

“I can’t believe I have to walk home in this…” she mutters, as if to herself, before looking back over her shoulder, she seems to pause. It’s as if she’s considering something very important.

 

Then, with that same gentle smile, she turns and hold the umbrella out to him.

 

There’s a crack of thunder, distant.

 

Her eyes hold his, still understanding and compassionate.

 

And, in the same space of time it takes for her to pass the umbrella into his hand, Adrien Agreste falls in love.

 

It’s sudden, as beautifully complex as the brush of their index fingers as she hands the umbrella over.

 

He can’t stop staring.

 

And then, as his luck would have it, the umbrella closes in a snap and engulfs him in temporary darkness.

 

There’s silence as he lifts the edge of the stretched fabric, his face burning with embarrassment, and in that same instance, Marinette starts to laugh.

 

It’s a quiet sound, sort of, high-pitched and lovely, and his stomach just bottoms out-but not before he laughs, too.

 

She shakes her head lightly as he opens the umbrella again and she turns to face the road, glancing at him once over her shoulder.

 

“See you tomorrow!”

 

With that, she turns her back to him and walks out into the rain. He watches her until he can’t see her anymore.

 

When did his heart start going so fast? Why does his face feel so hot? He doesn’t even respond to her until she’s long since out of sight.

 

“Y-Yeah, tomorrow see-I mean, I'l s-see…”

 

He shuts his mouth, uneasy. Adrien Agreste did not stutter. The fact that he is now is unusual and a little disturbing.

A snide little voice, nasal and still making him jump a bit, sounds from the pocket of his shirt. "Don't tell me I got stuck with a hopeless romantic this time around, too."

"I'm not a hopeless romantic!" Adrien insists, glaring down at the little creature. "I'm just...It..."

His face is still warm. He shakes his head to try and dispel it as his limousine pulls up to the curb.

 

His luck is terrible, that much is fact. It's part of his identity as Chat Noir, of course, part of the drawbacks that came with his powers. But, as he makes his way to the limo, he’s not sure it’s so much of a bad thing if his luck had allowed him to meet Marinette Dupaine-Cheng.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'Doyouwannashootme?'"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thanks so much for everyone who read and commented! I wasn't expecting such a response and I'm glad you all enjoyed. I wasn't planning on giving this more than one chapter, but by popular demand, here's another installment. I hope you enjoy!!

Conversations with his father were never anything short of formal.

 

It’s an interesting plight that he thinks is unique to the Agreste family. While most homes had the relaxed atmosphere you often caught a glimpse of in family pictures or snapshots, the Agreste mansion held as little feeling as the marble from which it was constructed. It was perfect and beautiful and completely devoid of any warmth.

 

Adrien, after half a year, has adapted well to the cold.

 

Still, as he sits in the chair opposite Gabriel with his back unnaturally straight and his eyes darting every which way, he can’t help but feel nervous. His father never talked to him, or if he did, it was only one on one. Adrien wonders, fleetingly, if this has to do with his attendance at school a few weeks ago. His father had been reluctant to send him, certainly, but seemed to relent after Adrien had promised to be back home every day and not to stay out too long. Was he really going to change his mind?

 

In a flash of despair, Adrian recalls that day in the rain. A week had gone by and he hadn’t even talked to Marinette. What if he never got the chance?

 

His father interrupts his panic, voice even and measured. “There has been a slight modification in your upcoming shoot, Adrien.”

 

He feels his shoulders relax, partially from relief and partially from disappointment. Of course this was about work. It always was.

 

“It’s the belief of the next article to feature you that you ought to have someone working with you for a few of the shots. Is that agreeable?”

 

Adrien’s brow quirks in interest. Most of his shoots were solo, since having such a big name meant that he didn’t really have to depend on anybody else to give him the limelight. This was unusual. “What’s the theme supposed to be?”

 

“The same as before. You’ll be showing some of the fall lines in the park.”

 

So nothing else had changed? This was unusual, but it wasn’t exactly unheard of. Editorials and lineups were cancelled and rearranged all the time, Adrien knows that much from just watching Nathalie. It’s likely that they had come out with some new jackets or something, maybe for the womens line. “So, somebody from a local agency?”

 

To Adrien’s surprise, his father shakes his head. “It’s too last minute to find anyone that the brand finds appropriate.”

 

His face hardens in understanding. His opinion of modeling as a profession is practically nonexistent. He neither likes nor dislikes it, he simply does it because it’s what Gabriel wants him to do and it’s the only thing he knows how to do. But being in the industry so long meant you couldn’t avoid the negative aspects of the environment. Adrien can still recall the last girl he’d done a shoot with. She’s been heartbreakingly thin and painfully nervous, constantly seeking approval from her agent, from the photographer, from the makeup artists...Anybody.

 

Adrien had wanted to stay a little and talk to her, but his father had disagreed. He’d never seen her again.

 

Shaking his head, Adrien brings himself back to the present. “Who are we using, then?”

 

Gabriel sighs, as if both troubled and defeated by the answer. “That will be up to you,” he replies, his palms facing upward.

 

Adrien’s eyes widen. He got to pick? Then it didn’t even necessarily have to be a girl! Maybe he could pick Nino. The boy had seemed like a lot of fun to hang out with, and having him on set would be a whole ton of laughs. Or maybe somebody else? Chloe would love to, he was sure, but after recalling how she had treated most of the people in class, Adrien was disinclined to pick her.

 

That, of course, left the most terrifying option of all.

 

Adrien swallows, his mouth dry at the prospect, but decides to voice his thoughts. “There’s...This girl from my class who could probably do it. She has the face for it, I think. And she’s very nice.”

 

I haven’t been able to carry a conversation with her for more than ten seconds, but that’s fine.

 

Across the table, Gabriel lifts his knuckles to his chin and observes Adrien over the rim of his glasses. “Do I know this girl?”

 

His heart pounds beneath the stare of his father. “Um, no. But she’ll do well, I promise.”

 

Or at least he hoped she would. If she didn’t, he’d have his father's wrath to face, but for some reason this prospect doesn’t really faze Adrien. He supposes it’s mostly because he liked the idea of his father having any strong feelings about him at all.

 

Lately, Adrien has been feeling less like a son and more like an associate.

 

Without speaking, Gabriel turns his glance downward to his binder, where he keeps Adrien’s schedule. There’s the quiet sound of scribbling, which seems almost to echo in the dining hall, before he speaks again. “Name?”

 

“Marinette,” Adrien replies, and he hopes his father is too engrossed in paperwork to note the way his voice has gone soft and wistful. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

 

 

By the time he makes it to school, Adrien is certain he’s made a terrible mistake.

 

Nino is there to greet him, like always, but Adrien responds only in distraction. His mind is engrossed with panic. How was he going to ask her to just be in a shoot with him like it was no big deal? Should he just go up in say it, or would that sound pompous? What if she said no? 

 

His eyes wander the room until they fall on Chloe, now engrossed in the process of re-applying mascara. He could always fall back on her if everything went terribly wrong, even if he was fairly sure it would lessen everyones opinion of him. Not to mention that he had to admit, seeing the way she acted around his classmates has made him less than fond of her.

 

She catches his gaze and winks, causing him to swallow and glance quickly away. That was a problem, too. He wasn’t sure how she’d gotten the impression that the two of them were involved in anything other than friendship and rich upbringings, but for some reason she seemed to be playing that angle more now. He’s got a sinking suspicion that she’s told everyone in class the two of them were a couple, and is now trying to live up to her own lie.

 

“Dude, are you okay? Your head’s so far in the clouds that I think you’re halfway to Mars.”

 

Nino is a welcome distraction from his internal crisis, and he offers his friend a bright smile in response. “Sorry. I’ve got a couple of things on my mind.”

 

Expectant, Nino leans his cheek in his palm and turns sideways in his chair to face him. “Lay it on me.”

 

There’s not much point trying to keep anything from Nino, and the luxury of having somebody to talk to is something Adrien is still fairly unfamiliar with. In a rush, Adrien tells him everything from the odd predicament regarding the shoot to the name he’d suggested.

 

“-And I can’t just ask her! What if she hates posing for pictures and I’ve signed her up for something awful? What if she never talks to me again?”

 

“You are overthinking things, here, man.” Nino said, reaching over to scruff the back of Adriens hair. “Marinette doesn’t hold grudges too easily. It’ll take more than that to make her hate you.”

 

Adrien braces his arms against his desk and leans his head onto the table, a quiet groan slipping out of his mouth. “I’ll probably find a way.”

 

He can hear Nino’s laugh from his left, his friends hand warm on his shoulder. “Here she comes, why don’t you just go over and ask her?”

 

Adrien’s head shoot upright in panic, face already warm. “You don’t understand how much I can not do that.”

 

“It’s easy, dude, just go for it!” 

 

Adrien likes to consider himself a fairly decent friend, seeing as he hasn’t had that many. Likewise, he considers himself a fairly decent person, seeing as he was chosen to be a superhero fairly recently. But when Nino catches Marinette’s eye and waves her over, he finds that he would be completely alright with punching him in the face.

 

Nino, of course, mysteriously disappears as soon as Marinette does come over, leaving her looking at Adrien in friendly curiosity. “What’s up, Adrien?”

 

His mind goes blank.

 

“A-Ah, uh, I’m…”

 

The seconds seem to tick by, his face hot enough to boil water, and the look of utter confusion on her face makes him want to shrivel up and die.

 

In a storm, he manages to blurt it out.

 

“Doyouwannashootme?”

 

Marinette blinks.

 

Horror dawns across Adriens face as he realizes what had just escaped his mouth.

 

“...Sorry?” She laughs, looking uncertain. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

 

He swallows. Get a grip, Adrien. “I was...Um, wondering, so...There’s a shoot I’m doing tomorrow and I need someone to work with me-or, uh, the clothing line needs an extra person-and since, I mean, I wanted to know if you were okay with doing that? It’s not today. It’s, um, tomorrow, but….”

 

She nods slowly, seeming to be struggling to keep up. “You want me to...Wait, do a photoshoot? With you?”

 

He reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “...If that’s okay?”

 

Marinette hums thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t see why not...What would I have to do? Should I wear something specific?”

 

Now this is finally familiar territory. Adrien can work with this-fashion is one thing he knows better than anyone in this class, and at least he can dive headlong into it to avoid the crippling fear of Marinette’s general existence. “No, they’ll give you stuff to wear. You just have to show up. And, um, they might do a bit of makeup things on you, but I don’t think you’ll need much because you’re already...You...Have a face!”

 

Someone shoot him.

 

She laughs again, high-pitched and sweet just like it had been that day in the rain. “Yes, I do.”

 

He grins, but his eyes are definitely crying for help right about now. “Yes.”

 

Marinette’s attention is diverted to the front of the room as their instructor enters, but she spares Adrien a glance over her shoulder. “I’ll wait for you after school tomorrow then, Adrien!” She whispers.

 

He feels dizzy.

 

“...Yeah, okay.” he finally says, around ten minutes later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the love!! I really wasn't expecting this story to go much further than a few one shots, but since you all seem to enjoy it, maybe I'll actually work on a cohesive plot here.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this latest installment! Fair warning....There's a little bit of angst, just at the end. Thank you for reading!!

There’s a kind of freedom in flight.

He supposes it’s not flying, exactly-he hardly possessed the abilities of a bird. But it’s about as close as he can get. 

Even in the midst of danger, Adrien still finds a rush of adrenaline as he pitches himself forward over rooftops and city streets, almost falling a few times. His chest buzzes with energy as he goes, the soles of his feet landing hard on the roof of a shop, his balance impeccable as he dashes along the ridge. The wind blows through his hair at this altitude, sunlight blazing in the heat of summer.

Fairly odd, considering it was the midst of Autumn.

Chat pauses at the edge of the roof, a gloved hand reaching up to shield his eyes. The sun is strong enough to make him squint. His vision is best in the low light, particularly in pressing darkness. Sun is the opposite of helpful, which he supposed was why Climaktika had elected to change it.

With a frustrated gust of air through his nose, Chat reaches for the staff at his waist. His partner hadn’t shown up yet, which had thrown him off because she was very rarely late, if ever. Not to say he couldn’t handle things on his own, for a while, but running up and down Paris in constantly changing weather was getting nothing short of irksome.

He’d been about to nudge the glowing insignia to ask where, exactly, she was planning on being for the duration of this encounter, when a sly voice came from over his right shoulder.

“Sorry I’m late, kitty.”

Quick enough, he turns to regard her with a jokingly exasperated expression. “Took you long enough. Where’ve you been?”

“I can’t be at your beck and call all the time,” she replies with a wink he could see coming from miles away. “As much as I’d like to be.”

“We can discuss that later.” Chat sighs with slight impatience as he turns back to the city. “In the meantime, we’ve got a pretty accurate weatherman on our hands. Any ideas?”

Ladybug goes back to business without any further prompting, her eyes taking on that strategic glint that always reassures him whenever he has any doubts of them winning. Ahead of them in the distance, stormclouds are gathering. Climaktika is straight ahead.

“She seems to like swinging that umbrella around,” Ladybug observes. “I’ll bet you a kiss that the akuma’s in there.”  
“Very sweet, but I’m still not going to kiss you.” Chat replies, still high in good humor even as his gaze narrows. The clouds gather and cast Paris into a rapid darkness, the threat of thunder echoing just overhead. He hefts the staff in one hand, planting his feet. “Shall we, m’lady?”

“If you wish it, chaton.”

The battle commences in a slew of rocketing blows and quick thinking. Climaktika’s strength resides mostly in her unpredictability, sending rains of ice down one second and gales of wind the next. Several times Chat is almost blown away, and it’s only a quick grab of his tail by Ladybug that he isn’t sent soaring.

At last he stands, breathing hard, his forearm braced on his knee to watch Ladybug as she swipes the darkened butterfly in her weapon. A quick swing and the butterfly emerges, now white. Grinning, Chat extends his fist in their typical gesture of solidarity.

“Great job, Ladybug.”

Her smile softened as her knuckles tap against his, cheeks flushed slightly in the aftereffects of the skirmish. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Chat Noir.” As if to nudge her back to reality, the dots on her earrings, a sound that reminds him of the diminishing pawprints on his ring. 

“You’d better fly away, little lady.” He says, standing up straight once again. “It looks like your time’s nearly up.”

She heaves a dramatic sigh of reluctance, shaking her head. “Shame. Seems like there’s never enough time, huh?”

He chuckles in amusement before waving her off, and Ladybug swings away with a mocking little salute.

There’s a little beep, a flash of green, and Adrien stands in the place of Chat Noir.

The boy watches his partner disappear for a moment, lost in thought. He knows, is at least fairly certain, that Ladybugs playful flirtation is little more than a means to pass the time. It’s funny and a little endearing, but not much other than that. It’s a part of why they work so unfailingly well together. She has the focus and cleverness of an experienced scholar, he has the wild plans and brashness of an untrained genius. Together, they are unstoppable.

The soles of his shoes kick absently at the sidewalk as he begins his trek back home. In a way, he supposes he does love the girl a bit. As someone might love a close friend or favorite song-there wasn’t romance in it, not the heart-stopping infatuation that Marinette has infected him with, but it’s still as powerful. It’s enough to make him wonder, from time to time. Not exactly about who she was, though the thought did cross his mind now and again. No, just small things. How she was doing. What her favorite school subject is. Simple things like that.

Adrien reaches up to rub his shoulder, wincing as his fingertips make contact with the sore muscles. He’d jarred his arm when Climaktika had collided her umbrella with his staff, and he was sure the pain would last a few days at least. He’s sure he can blame the discomfort on his fencing instructor if anyone asks, but he still hopes his father doesn’t notice. He doesn’t need to be the subject of another lawsuit.

He passes a clock-tower, which chimes three times in the afternoon sun. Adrien furrows his brow. Three-o’clock...Wasn’t there something he had to do around then? And not Chinese lessons or piano, either, something different, something unexpected…

His heart jolts to a sickening stop.

He’s late for his photoshoot.

And it isn’t the premise of his Father’s disappointment that makes Adrien take off at a sprint with his arms pumping. It isn’t the waiting photographers and make-up artists that make him run through a red light, causing a driver to shout at him to be more careful.

It’s the fact that the fall shoot is today, and Marinette was supposed to be there, and he wasn’t even on time.

As he careens around the corner, his mind seems to work even faster than his legs. How long has she been waiting? It would take him another fifteen minutes to get to the garden location, even at a full run like this. What if she’d given up and went home? And then tomorrow she would regard him with a cold indifference and he’d never even get so much as a chance, and Nino would laugh at him and he’d be stuck marrying someone rich like Chloe or worse-

A solid figure slams through his thoughts just as he slams directly into it, his knees grazing along the pavement in a sharp sting. His hands, which had caught onto the nearest thing he could find, seem to have clamped around someone’s shoulders, someone he recognized with heart-stopping terror as soon as he looks up.

“Oh my-Marinette, I’m so sorry!”

The girl looks a little disgruntled, but mostly unoffended as she gingerly gets to her feet. “Don’t worry about it...Are you alright?”

The sunlight dyes her eyes an even brighter shade of blue that reminds him of the ocean. He becomes aware that he’s still kneeling on the ground.

“F-Fine, yes, thank you.” he splutters as he gets to his feet.

This had been a terrible idea. Every time she looks at him, his mind freezes. How was he stupid enough to have assumed he could carry a conversation with her, let alone an entire photoshoot?

Marinette laughs, a little sheepishly, as she reaches out to dust some dir from his shoulder. “There, good as new,” she proclaims.

He might pass out, and not just from being out of breath.

Thankfully, the runners of the shoot are quick to get to work and spare him the pain-staking embarrassment of trying to talk to her. There are a few scattered questions about where he’s been, which he avoids with the practice excuses of any self-respecting teenager, and soon he’s off to be picked and preened as always.

Adrien has sort of mastered the art of sitting still. He’s been doing it ever since he was very small when the photos had first began, typically at the request of his father. It’s only the anticipation of seeing Marinette again that made time seem to tick on. His leg bounces restlessly in his chair, and twice he is scolded for fidgeting while a light contour is applied beneath his jaw to make it appear sharper, more mature.

His reflection, when all is done, looks vastly different than the goofy hero who does flips off of Parisian rooftops and makes puns.

Adrien isn’t sure he likes it.

Still, he’s quickly distracted as he is escorted outside. The natural light is at about three quarters, good for shooting in shadow, but the light will change completely in an hour or so. They have limited time.

Yet, as soon as Marinette comes into view, time stops.

It isn’t the makeup that’s different, though it’s clear they’ve done a few basic touch ups, as was expected. It wasn’t even the clothes, though he was forced to admit that the combination of the scarf on her shoulders and the light sweater is adorable.

No, it’s that she looks positively radiant with excitement.

Her eyes shine with a barely suppressed glee as she watches the action, from the few other models shooting separate articles in a location a little ways away to the lights being set up on the stairs for them. Her hands are clasped near her chest, though as soon as she meets his eyes, she lifts one hand up in an eager wave.

He’s helpless.

“Adrien, hey!” She sounds almost a little out of breath, and deliriously happy when she approaches him. “This is all so cool! Did you see all the different clothes? Did your Dad design all of them?”

He smiles softly at her enthusiasm. “Yeah, most of them.”

“They’re incredible! The detail work on this scarf is just so intricate, I can hardly stop looking at it...Did you see the stitches here and here? You can’t get that on machine, so they must have had someone do it by hand. It looks so tricky, too, I wonder if I’d be able to try…”

He watches her talk, her eyes shining with enthusiasm.

If he could fall any harder, he’d end up with broken bones.

His attention is quickly diverted elsewhere as a few shots begin, just a bit of basic things individually. Adrien doesn’t like to think he’s showing off, but he can’t help but glance to Marinette between flashes of the camera. She isn’t usually looking at him, too busy taking in the area around them with an almost childlike amazement. Twice the photographer snaps at him to focus.

He takes it all fairly well.

The shots with the two of them are, surprisingly, the easiest ones. Marinette is by no means a natural model, often giggling as soon as the shutter clicked and almost falling over on the steps once or twice because she’d spotted a particular designer she recognized, but it’s the candid pictures that really turn out to work.

He looks over them later alongside his Father, who wears his typical guarded expression. There are three that look nice with the two of them, in particular. One is where Marinette has her arm resting in his, in the middle of saying something about a joke her friend Alya had told earlier while Adrien watched with rapt fascination. There’s another he likes where she has her forehead touching his shoulder, half dissolved into a giggling fit because the photographer had told her to ‘give more love to the camera’ and she’d thought it had sounded funny. The last one is Adrien’s favorite.

Marinette had jokingly thrown her scarf over his neck so the two were sort of sharing it, when they’d done a few shots sitting on the steps. She’s smiling at him in a frozen moment of silliness and he’s smiling too, for once not the tight-lipped one he typically wears on camera, but with his teeth showing.

In a fluid motion, Gabriel Agreste knocks the copies aside.

“Father?” Adrien says, startled out of his reverie. “What’s wrong?”

“None of these are acceptable,” Gabriel replies, his tone as clipped and detached as always. “Neither of you appear professional in any of the shots taken. The girl clearly has no experience in photography. Half the pictures of her are blurry.”

Adrien opens and closes his mouth a few times. “I...But, wait, what about that one?” He indicated the picture with the scarf. “That one’s fine, isn’t it?”

Gabriel picks up the photograph, studying it over the rim of his glasses. Then, he hands it to Adrien.

“Your front teeth are crooked.”

Adrien lifts a hand to his mouth, as if he’s been struck.

He doesn’t smile for a few days.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff to counteract the slight angst. Hope you enjoy!!!

The mansion becomes strangely lonely at night.

Not to say it was never lonely during the day. Despite the hired help in both the kitchen and out in the gardens, almost no one spoke to Adrien aside from Nathalie and, on occasion, his bodyguard-though that was rare to begin with. 

He wasn’t too bothered. If anything, Adrien was fairly used to the solitude. The silence wasn’t a comfort, but it had been present for a very long time even before his mother had...Left, or died, or just vanished altogether.

Adrien lay atop the covers of his bed, staring at the ceiling and attempting to ward off the feeling of restlessness which was threatening to overwhelm him. Plagg had fallen asleep a long time ago. It was one of the kwami’s many talents. All he needed was a fairly level surface and a bit of sunlight and he could drift off in seconds.

Usually, Adrien was the same way. But tonight, it was as if the notion of claustrophobia had taken roots and grown into his bedroom like vines.

He hauled himself up into a sitting position. The sun was nearly setting outside of his window, casting beams through to his bedroom and making the walls catch fire. An orange glow gives him the impression of being in limbo, like he’s halfway between spring and summer and everything was holding a breath.

“Plagg,” Adrien says in a voice so quiet he surprises himself. “Are you awake?”

The answer is snide and predictable. “No.”

He looks back to the sleeping cat, who’s eyes are clamped shut.

“Plagg,” Adrien coaxes. “Can I transform and go out for a little while?Just a little while.”

“We went out on patrol already today. I’m too tired.”

Reluctantly, Adrien pulls his trump card. “There’s camembert in it for you when we get back.”

Less than a minute later, Chat Noir has slipped out of the window like a thief into the night.

Strangely, he always feels more similar to a criminal than a hero when he’s in his costume alone. He leaps from roof to roof like a fugitive stealing glimpses of a city that’s both open and closed to him. There are no conditions when he is Chat Noir. There aren’t any consequences which loom over his head like price tags.

Maybe it’s this line of thinking that leads him to Marinette’s patio.

He isn’t even aware he’s been heading in that direction until the bakery, quiet and welcoming, appears in the evening streets.

The building is small enough to fit into his mansion three times and still leave living space for both of their families. The roof looks like it’s in need of some repair, and as he draws closer, he can see that one of the gutters is clogged with fallen leaves.

Chat loves everything about it.

He feels better as soon as he alights on the railing with a balance as impeccable as his namesake. His tail curls up behind him, keeping that balance intact. There’s a little hatch-door inscribed onto the surface of the patio. Maybe it leads to an attic or something.

The scent of freshly-baked bread reaches his keen nose, mingling with wood-fire and granulated sugar. But Chat reflects, as he turns to gaze outward over the streets, that it wasn’t the scent of food that had brought him here.

No, this is where Marinette lived.

Marinette, who had said hello to him in class today., and always carried a sketchbook, and had thrown half of her scarf around his neck because he thought it would be funny. And sure, in the back of his mind maybe Chat’s aware that this is more or less fantasizing. He can’t say what her favorite color is (he thinks maybe it’s pink,) or what she wants to be when she grows up, (fashion, maybe? He isn’t sure,) or even if she really knows he exists. 

Adrien supposed he was just that way. It had been like a thunderclap, sudden and was still echoing in his ears, had been ever since that day in the rain.

As if to manifest his daydreaming, he hears a distinct and quiet voice behind him.

“...Chat Noir?”

He nearly puts a crick in his neck, he turns to look at her so fast.

Marinette looks like a half-rinsed sunrise. Her hair is still down, but seeing her in a situation outside of school only confirms that she’s not some vision he’d constructed out of loneliness, the way Ladybug sometimes seemed to be. She’s dressed more casually, just a t-shirt and pants, her hair looks a little wet as if she’s just washed it. Somehow this feels unabashed and intimate, maybe because he’s never had friends over to his house or maybe because he can’t recall seeing her outside of school except for the photoshoot.

She smiles almost slyly, her teeth showing. “What’re you doing on my patio?”  
He sinks into Chat’s cool dynamic like a second skin as he hops down from the railing, boots scarcely even touching the ground with the swiftness of his landing. Again, a tantalizing world of options make their presence known to him. He’s Chat Noir. No one knows who that is. There would be no consequences for Adrien Agreste.

...What if he kissed her?

No, he brushes that thought off with a shameful wince. That’s not his style. Deceit and hidden identities were no way to start off a romance, and even so, the idea of being that impudent and impulsive aren’t appealing. He’s got the common decency to know that just because he shows up on her patio and happens to be one of Paris’s most famed heros doesn’t mean she owes him much of anything at all.

“I was in the area,” he replies smoothly, before he remembers that Chat isn’t supposed to know her. “Do you live here?”

She reaches up, toying with the ends of her hair almost bashfully before she replies. “Yeah. MY parents run the bakery just downstairs.”

“Ah, so that’s the source of the delicious smell!” He grins. Maybe this would be easier than expected. “Pass on my compliments to them, won’t you?”

Marinette giggles, sweet and high pitched, and the speed with which his heart races is probably cause for some concern. “I’ll tell them. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to know that Chat Noir himself approves of their baking...Though I’m not sure how you can tell how good it is just from a scent.”

“I’ve got a sharp nose,” he says.

A sharp nose?

He was talking about his sense of smell? It was sunset in Paris, he was wearing a mask which concealed his identity and freed him from the constraints of reputation and responsibility, the girl of his dreams standing only a few paces away, and he was talking about his sense of smell?

At the very least she does laugh again, and his heart makes his head go stupid. As if he could get any stupider at this point.

Did she know what she did do him? Was she doing this on purpose?

“So I’ve heard,” Marinette replies, her hands moving to clasp behind her back. “Speaking of...Where’s Ladybug? Isn’t she usually with you?”

He thinks of his partner with a fleeting smile. “I’m sure she’s out there somewhere daydreaming about me.”

Marinette smiles back, small and almost a little secretive. “I’ll bet she is.”

Chat blinks. He’s not quite sure if she was just humoring him or..Was Marinette flirting with him?

Maybe he’d just heard wrong. “Sorry?”

To his astonishment, her face turns a slight pink at the ride of her cheekbones. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything. Why, did you hear anything? I didn’t. Maybe it was the wind, you know, it makes the oak-leaves do...Things and stuff.”

His brow quirks upward in bewilderment. Marinette didn’t often ramble that way unless she was being forced to speak in front of the class, or to someone she didn’t know all that well…

Then, it clicks. Of course she’s uncomfortable. He’s never spoken to her as Chat before! Certainly he knows who she is, knows they attend the same class and sit nearby, but she certainly wasn’t aware. And here he was, just barging in on her patio and expecting her to humor him with conversation.

Sometimes he could be a real idiot.

“Say,” Chat says, and his shoulders stiffen in a way more typical of his unmasked persona. “If you’d rather I not just sit here and stare at you, I can definitely get going. It’s late, and I’m sure you’ve got a lot of things to do, right?”

“Oh-no, that’s okay!” Marinette is quick to respond, eyes widening a little in response to the sudden change of topic. “You can stay here for a little while if you wanted. Um...What were you doing here, in any case?”

When her eyes meet his, he decides to be honest.

“I was just thinking,” he replies kindly, turning back to the streets which were now soaked in evening light. To his left, Marinette’s footsteps come closer until she’s standing beside him, and when her shoulders accidentally brushes his, he feels like he might have a heart attack.

“Could I ask what about?”

For a second he wants to tell her everything, because Marinette is just that sort of person. It has nothing to do with the mask on his face or the reputation he carries. When Marinette looked at you, she really did look at you, her gaze focusing keenly and carefully as she listened like you were the most important person in France. And half of him suspects that he could fracture and tell her everything, from the crook in his front teeth he now can’t stop seeing when he looks in the mirror, to the portrait of his mother that Gabriel says he isn’t permitted to hang in his room anymore, to the crushing sense of loneliness that’s been buried in his chest since the age of seven that his father waters like seeds.

Then, he decides that might be a little overkill.

“...Marinette, what do you think you’d like to be when you grow up?”

The question is out of his mouth before he can catch it, because the air smells sweet with sugar and oak-leaves and Marinette is standing right next to him. She blinks in surprise at the question, her gaze averting in thought.

“I think I’d like to be a designer. It’s something I’m good at...I don’t brag very much, but I think I’ve got the skills to turn it into a professional career. I think I’m good enough.” There’s a little lilt to her voice that he finds almost painfully endearing. “How about you, Chat Noir? Are you going to keep being a superhero, or is there something else?”

Had anyone asked him that question last year, the answer would have been immediate. Gabriel had mapped out his life with all the loving precision of a chemist. Adrien would continue modeling into early adulthood and then proceed to retire and spend the rest of his life managing his father’s company. Modeling is something that comes as naturally as breathing to him. He’s spent the better portion of his life at the front of a lens. He’s as familiar with a makeup brush and quick changes as any decent actor, and just like in that profession, he knows how to smile on cue.

But what does he want?

The answer comes as hazy as morning mist. “I think I’d just like to be happy.”

Marinette doesn’t ask him any questions, because she’s Marinette.

The two pass time in silence before Chat Noir leaves for home.

(Though, as the night air rushes past him, he thinks his definition of home smells a lot more like freshly-baked bread than polished marble.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I HAD to revisit the Dark Cupid episode ;)
> 
> As always, let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy!!!

He’s been itching for a fight for days, and now that he finally has one, he isn’t entirely sure he wants it.

Time ticks on, minutes seeming like days and he locks gazes with his partner, who regards him with an uncharacteristically sadistic smile. Chat Noir feels his stomach sink slowly as he comes to understand that he won’t be able to fix this without hurting Ladybug. The thought itself seems like a contradiction, with everything they’ve done to protect each other. Ladybug and Chat Noir do not hurt each other. They do not fight each other. It isn’t how things work.

The sky seems close enough to touch, the light blue only sharpening the bright red of her suit as her yo-yo swings rapidly at her side, propelled in a constant circle. He notes the gesture with aching familiarity, his brow furrowing.

“Aw, Buginette, what’d they do to you?”

His voice sounds pathetic and simpering, but he’s at a loss. He’s insecure of his own abilities, if the truth was to be told. Ladybug has always been the leader. She’s beloved by the whole of France, and now that he’s the only sane one standing, he feels nervousness dictate his every move. What was he going to do?

It was a dark day in Paris.

She meets his gaze again almost arrogantly, stare challenging and condescending. “Scared, kitty?” she croons, the nickname falling with a cringe from him.

His grip on his staff tightens. He’s not backing down.

“Hey, Kim!” he calls, reclaiming his cocky lilt with surprising ease. “You hiding behind a girl instead of fighting me yourself?”

His comment is a little distasteful, but it elicits a reaction which is what Chat is hoping for. Unfortunately, the reaction itself comes from Ladybug rather than the akumatized boy that has drawn her under his influence.

“Like you’re half as good as me,” she says with a sharp grin.

A sudden wave of exhaustion makes his hands slack on his weapon.

Then, he strikes.

She meets him blow for blow, their familiarity with each other’s fighting style and movements painfully obvious as the altercation continued. Chat hates every blow. 

In his heart, he knows this is what he needs to do, that his job as a hero is to protect people and, in a way, he’s protecting her from herself by preventing her from giving further harm to anyone else, harm he knows she’ll regret later.

“You’re off your form, kitty. What’s the matter? Scared to hurt me?”

Her voice is scathing and mocking, and he feels it cut deeper than any physical wound she might inflict on him.

Because when she follows it up with “That’s the difference between us,” he isn’t sure she’s lying.

It really is the difference between them. Ladybug leads with her head consistently regardless of the situation. She makes logical choices. She sees the best options and the opportunities, and she takes them regardless of what her heart wants.

Chat isn’t like that. _Adrien_ isn’t like that.

And that’s why he’s going to lose.

He parries her strikes, continues giving ground, doesn’t try and upset her footing or otherwise gain the upperhand because Ladybug is the closest friend he’s ever going to have. But even with this in mind, Chat is determined not to lose.

His eyes narrow, grip stealing on the metal staff as he begins to counter with some swings of his own. Ladybug seems almost delighted by this change of pace, and eagerly retaliates, her swings vicious and fast.

Chat tries to counter, frantic in an attempt to keep up with the speed and dexterity of her attacks with something as simple as a pole, his swings clumsy and wide. Overhead, Dark Cupid continues to soar, circling like a hawk over carrion.

Ladybug catches his staff in one hand, forearm braced as she immobilizes the weapon. “I’ll give you a chance, Chat.” she hisses. “For old time’s sake, run away. Go home.”

“You can’t even come up with any original lines?” He grins, twisting the weapon out of her hand.

The jibe lacks her maliciousness, seeming almost playful when it comes from Chat’s lips, because even when she’s trying to kill him, she’s still his best friend,

“It doesn’t matter what you say,” Chat manages between ragged breaths, stumbling back from a barely missed blow and coming to rest a moment, a good distance away from his partner. His arm braces on his knees, sweat trickling down his temple the way it does during a fencing match. “I’m not giving up on you.”

She scoffs, but he’s come to think of her current actions as a separate person. It doesn’t hurt as much that way.

Overhead, rainclouds that had begun to gather finally unleash their fury, droplets falling in thin streams to the rooftop on which they stand. The rain feels good on Chat’s skin, the coldness refreshing, giving him focus.

And from that focus, he gets a reckless, dangerous, borderline insane idea.

“Say, my lady,” he quips, voice sounding nearly gentle, matching a little smirk on his face. “How about a kiss?”

She stares, her lip curling back in a smile of disgust. “What?!”

It’s her reaction that gives him confidence. She doesn’t laugh or scoff. She’s actually taking a few steps backward, as if terrified of the prospect.

His grin widens a little, and he props his staff by his side and rests his arm against it. “You heard me. How about it? Just a little one?”

Her repulsed reaction only strengthens his certainty that there’s something to that idea, some manner of reversal that might be drawn through such an irrational action.

As if in a panicked attempt to repel him, Ladybug swings her yo-yo and the circle strikes against his head, sending it spinning. Chat reels backward a moment, a gloved hand in his hair pressing against the pain, and when he looks up, she is gone.

So he’s caught onto something.

Ignoring the dull pain at the side of his head, Chat launches himself up over the rooftop, arcing through the air with ease. No one was going to help him aside from himself, so a little bit of pain wasn’t going to stop him.

He follows his partner-turned-adversary across Paris, bounding easily over rooftops and chimneys, and he comes to rest at the very edge of the roof with his arms half outstretched to catch his balance. Ladybug is still ahead, but she’s come down to the park to stand alongside the winged Cupid, as if waiting for him. That made him uneasy. Still, he has little choice but to follow.

He lands on his feet, staff still in hand, preparing himself for a continuation of the fight. Now that she’s standing near Kim and has the advantage, Ladybug seems more confident, the frightened aversion forgotten. She’s quick to advance again, yo-yo swinging in an arc that Chat manages to dance away from, her swing missing him by inches. He has no chance to rest before she’s on him again, striking wherever she can, and he has no choice but to just parry and pray. His steps are clumsy as he retreats, a glint in his partner’s eyes as she senses victory.

And then, Chat understands. In order to win, he has to lose.

So he lets himself get knocked down, his free hand shooting out to grip Ladybug’s forearm and make her follow him to the ground. Chat knows he’ll have to act fast, that this is likely the only opportunity he’s going to get, that he can’t purify the akuma on his own. He’s adhering to his promise-he’s not giving up on her just yet.

That’s not what partners do.

Above him, Ladybug’s eyes narrow into a steeled glare, as if mustering up an insult or something similar. 

And Chat, with an inward apology to Marinette (wherever she is,) pulls himself up by the back of her neck and kisses her.

He’s terrified that it isn’t working at all, that this action was just something fanciful he’d derived out of too many fairytales and too much hopeful naivety, so instead of risking failure he just keept his eyes shut and keeps their lips together. He’s gripping onto her shoulders for dear life, the action born out of sheer desperation rather than romantic intent.

If he dies kissing Ladybug, then he’ll die kissing Ladybug.

His fear melts into confusion as he feels no answering smash of his head into the pavement or fist to his stomach. The confusion leads to him pulling back, just a bit, which in turn leads to her leaning in, the kiss becoming less last-ditch attempt and more startlingly genuine.

It’s not the kiss itself that bothers him-he’d do far worse in order to help her-it’s that as the seconds pass it becomes less sudden and more real. His mind goes momentarily blank, thoughts of fear and outcome replaced by the way her nose brushes against his, her hair dipping to touch his cheek momentarily.

All at once, she pulls back and it’s over, and the sudden flush at the ridges of her cheeks and brightness in her eyes tells him he’s made the right call. It’s different, seeing her this way. His partner is strong-willed and clever, never backing down from any sort of battle, always ready with a sarcastic quip or two. 

After he kisses her, she looks almost vulnerable. Like he’s crossed some invisible line.

It reminds him of someone, for just a second.

Then, as quick as it comes, it’s gone. Her expression shifts into indignant anger as she gets to her feet, holding a hand to help him up, her glare directed at the akumatized Kim rather than him.

“...Did you make me hurt my teammate?” she demands, and the venom in her voice is pointed and startles him. Kim has the decency to look uncomfortable, maybe even a little ashamed. 

Her hand is still in his. He doesn’t mention anything.

Later, after Kim is left looking normal and a little startled and Ladybug’s earrings are blinking with impatience, he mentions being sorry about the gesture from earlier.

Her response is both a relief and a disappointment. “What kiss?” she asks quizzically.

He decides to just smile. “Nevermind.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot thickens...
> 
> As an apology for the break, have an extra long chapter!! I hope you enjoy. The next chapter will be from Mari's perspective so get hyped for that!!
> 
> ((Also spot the Bleach reference))

Adrien doesn’t get out of bed when he first wakes up that morning.

His eyes open in order to greet the sunlight streaming in from his window, reflecting off of the white walls of his bedroom space, or at least the fraction that isn’t overrun by things. On the surface, his room looks like every teenagers paradise. There is a high-definition flat screen near the window, complete with virtually every gaming console known to man, shelves upon shelves of books and video games and DVDs, countless posters featuring Jagged Stone and various sport athletes, a photograph of Chat and Ladybug tucked between his bedframe and the wall, three different desktop monitors at his desk and a bottle of strawberry Fanta on the desk. It’s the very picture of indulgence. It’s the best money can buy.

Adrien sits up, running his fingers lightly through his hair in an unconscious attempt to comb it back. School today doesn’t start for a few hours, but he’s already considering telling Nathalie he’s sick. He _feels_ sick. His head hurts a bit, and there is a kind of exhaustion which has settled into his bones and threatens to pin him to his mattress. 

Plagg is still asleep on the pillow beside the indent where Adrien’s head had been, curled into a tight ball as the quiet sound of his snoring interrupting the silence of the bedroom. It’s a silence that seems especially pronounced today.

At length, Adrien makes himself get out of bed and dressed, not bothering to look over his appearance in the mirror at the wall of his room. Sunlight streams in through the window, showing off a blue sky which bears some impressively fluffy clouds. It’s a beautiful day. He can hear the distant echo of birdsong even with his window shut.

Adrien doesn’t particularly care for it.

He makes his way downstairs, eats breakfast alone, and informs Nathalie he’ll be staying home that day. It is a testament to the length of time the two have known each other that Nathalie only offers minimal questions.

She peers up at him over the edge of her tablet, manicured brows drawn faintly in concern. “Do you not feel well?”

Adrien shrugs, pushing his fruit with the prongs of his fork. “I’m tired.”

Nathalie looks at him intently for a moment, the kind of gaze which makes him shift uncomfortably in his seat until she taps on the glass screen, fingers only a brief flutter of movement before she snaps the cover closed.

“Your events for today have been cancelled, Adrien. Get some rest.”

He manages a small smile in gratitude. “ _Merci_ , Nathalie.”  
Her mouth tightens into a thin line. “Take care of yourself.”

The prospect of a free day would have been exhilarating in any other scenario. Adrien would have already made about thirty different plans-perhaps he’d go visit the bakery and pick out some sweets, or go for a walk and try to play his own version of hide-and-seek with the press, or maybe even transform into Chat and see what kind of mischief he could get into.

Now, though, his only real plans are to go to his room.

Plagg is awake by the time he climbs up the stairs, and floats towards him in expectation, to which Adrien simply waves a hand. “No school today, Plagg.”

“Yes, there is.” Plagg insists in that infuriating need to prove Adrien wrong as often as possible. “Ten o’clock, remember?”

Adrien flops onto his back, sneakers hanging off the edge of his mattress. “I’m not going.”

Plag settles onto Adrien’s sternum, barely even a noticeable weight. “Ooh, skipping? I like the rebellious streak! Where are we off to? The cinema? Maybe a party?”

Adrien says nothing.

“Fine, keep ignoring me.” Plagg says with a small huff. “You’re never any fun, anyway.”

The insult might have stung at any other time, but at the moment Adrien simply sighs and stays where he is. The kwami critiques him fairly often, and he’s quite used to the snide commentary by now. It isn’t much of a bother. 

A few hours pass with him simply laying there, not quite going back to sleep or even thinking too much, just lying with his gaze fixed on the ceiling and Plagg resting on his chest. The house around him is empty, so around twelve he gets up to make himself lunch. The kitchen staff expects an order, but Adrien simply shakes his head and spreads jam over half of a croissant. Then, he goes and takes a shower, fastens a dark button-up shirt, and walks into the east section of the house.

The one he’s not allowed in.

Adrien stands in front of the carved double doors and expects them to be locked, but they give way with a push of his palm against the wood, and he isn’t sure if he is relieved or terrified. The air behind the doors smells different somehow, perhaps dustier, untouched by the rest of the home. It’s as if the rest of the house has simply left this section frozen in space in time. As if, in this room only, Adrien is still ten years old.

The room itself is as large as one might expect from the rest of the house. The ceiling isn’t faulted, but it still rests high above Adrien’s head. The shutters have all been drawn, leaving this section of the house almost as dim as a cave in comparison to the white walls in the rest of the building. His footsteps echo as he shuts the doors behind him, and a distinct feeling of unease clings to his chest. He feels like he’s doing something irreversibly wrong by walking through this room, despite the firm knowledge that this is still just a part of the house, another section of structure in which Adrien lived.

He forces himself to continue walking until he reaches the far side of the room where the windows are. His fingers fold into the heavy drapes which block out the sunlight and, with a decisive motion, Adrien yanks them aside.

It’s a bit of a mistake. Dust motes swirl through the air like a flurry of snow, making him give a fairly impressive sneeze as, all at once, the room is illuminated with light. Golden rays cast shadows from the oak bookcase which resides at the wall, falling and reflecting off the sheen black of a piano directly near the window.

It’s an instrument he knows very well.

Gingerly, Adrien tugs the windowpane upwards, removing yet another barrier from the outside world. Across from his window is another building, an equally expensive house just next door. The sky is blue and still beautiful, the warmth of spring making it’s way into the house. It’s almost ironic.

The breeze brings a scent of flowers blossoming from somewhere distant, and he braces his palms against the ledge, half leaning his head out of the window. It really is a beautiful day. He feels guilty for not caring.

The ghost of a smile inches into his face as, far off in the distance, he catches a familiar red flash. Ladybug must be patrolling by now. In any other situation he would transform and join her, but for some reason, he doesn’t today. He doesn't’ feel as if he’d be of very much use. Still, he sends fond thoughts her way, even if he knows she hardly needs good luck.

Gradually, his gaze turns downcast as he looks at the instrument. The piano looks precisely the same, from the faint scratches near the key coverings to the thin gold band which travels across the front of it. Looking at this instrument, Adrien is struck by how small it seems to be now. He remembers once his hands could barely reach the keys, his legs dangling from the bench. It had seemed gigantic. Now, it scarcely reaches his stomach.

As if he’s removing the lid of a coffin, Adrien gradually lifts the key covering upwards, gently folding the painted wood into the piano and revealing the familiar outlay of black and white keys beneath it. More memories come flooding at him as he lightly touches his fingertip to middle C, recalling what his instructor had said about the importance of that note and it’s location on the keyboard.

His first instructor. Not the one his father hired.

With a shuddering breath, Adrien removes his hand. An unreasonable amount of guilt strikes him like the toll of a grandfather clock as he once again reminds himself that he shouldn’t be in here. It’s not permitted. His father would….

What _would_ his father do?

Would he be furious? Would he lapse into some kind of cold and calculating mentality? Would he even react at all?

Carefully, he settles his hands on the keys again. He can feel them give slightly beneath the touch even as he doesn’t apply enough pressure to strike the hammer. Until he does.

The chord is soft, more of an experimentation than a beginning to anything. Miraculously, the piano is somehow still in tune even after not being touched in perhaps three years. 

One chord leads to another, and soon, Adrien is playing.

He isn’t playing for anyone in particular, he doesn’t think, but the music filters out of the open window like some kind of hesitant call, notes falling softly and easily as his fingers traced the beginnings to some song he no longer recalled the name of.

It is the fifteenth of May. Thirty-eight years ago, a woman named Rachelle LeRoux entered the world.

One year ago, approximately. Rachelle Agreste vanished.

Adrien’s pressure on the keys becomes more tangible, the music swelling into a crescendo before, all at once, the volume drops and his hands reached upward to the right side of the keys, notes high and sweet and nearly heartbreaking. Then, all at once, Adrien’s fingers slip. He hits a sharp where there should have been a flat.

He freezes, shoulders rigid and stiff beneath the fabric of his shirt. It has come to his attention that he is no longer alone.

“Oh-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you!”

Adrien snaps back into his typical mild-mannered posture, hands flying from the keys, back straight and tall, head held level, his mouth firmly closed to conceal the fact that his front teeth are still crooked.

“...Ladybug?”

The heroine regards him with an apologetic smile from where she sits perched at the ledge of his window, circular oval attached at her hip as she grasps the side of the window for some balance. The sight, strangely, doesn’t seem invasive. If anything, it seems familiar.

“Hi. Like I said, I wasn’t trying to spy or anything like that. I heard someone playing the piano and it sounded just _beautiful_ , and I guess I got distracted. How long have you been playing?”

“I, um…” Adrien fumbles for his words, simply because he’s so used to being himself around her, and now isn’t sure how to go about acting. “A while.”

“It sounds lovely.” Her legs swing inward until she’s sitting easily at his window. “You don’t mind me sitting here, do you? I don’t want to be a bother.”

Adrien stands, carefully shifting to be at the side of the piano. “No, it’s alright.”

She regards him with an air of interest and familiarity that he doesn’t quite understand, as if she knew all too well that he moonlighted as a pun enthusiast superhero. Sunlight streams in above her head, catching the dark blue of her hair and casting a shadow at her jaw that makes her appear equal parts reassuring and mysterious. 

“You don’t have to stop just because I’m here,” she says. “What were you playing?”

His eyes linger on the horizon above her head, as if anxious to be looking anywhere else. “Just this song I know.”

Ladybug nods as if his vague response is more than satisfactory. Then, just as he feared it would, her expression turns thoughtful, the ridge of her mask doing little to conceal the curious glint in her eyes as she tilts her head just a fraction to the side. “Is everything alright?” she inquires.

“Yes.” He speaks much too quickly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Her voice, when she speaks again, is soft and filled with a kind of genuine concern that repels him simply because he is so pitifully unaccustomed to it. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

Adrien swallows thickly, his gaze riveted on the piano keys. It’s none of her business. This entire room was none of her business, nor was his personal life, or this piano, or any of it.

But somehow, he wants to tell her everything.

Because Ladybug is special to him in a way he perhaps didn’t have words for. It wasn’t the same as how he felt about Marinette, not that exhilarating rush of nerves and the kind of contented daydreaming that usually shows up on summer afternoons while watching ants crawl along blades of grass. But it was just a real, just as present. 

She is the kind of friend no one else could ever hope to match regardless of the situation. She’s the one who meets him near the river when it’s four in the morning and neither of them can sleep, who gives him piggy-back rides when she insists he isn’t moving quickly enough. Ladybug has his back.

She might not know it when he looks like this, but she does.

“....I do this thing, sometimes.” He speaks haltingly. “Where on my mom’s birthday, I get changed into something nice. I clean up.”

The emptiness of the room seems to swallow his words.

“I pretend like she’s gonna come back home.”

At the window, Ladybug looks as if she’s just been shot. A gloved hand is at her mouth, and he can feel her gaze riveted on him and he genuinely hates how pathetic he feels. The weight of the room and the piano and his mother’s portrait and the emptiness in his house pins him to one spot with such intensity that he doesn’t even more when Ladybug stands and approaches him, cautiously, like he’s a deer she doesn’t want to frighten away. A hand rests on his arm, the weight of it familiar to him and strange to her.

“Adrien…”

He can sense the genuine empathy in her voice and shies away from it, regaining his typical demeanor. “She isn’t dead or anything, I don’t think, she’s just….It’s…”

The hand on his arm gives a comforting squeeze. “Complicated,” Ladybug finishes.

He nods, once. “Yes.”

She seems to regard him thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again. “Did you know once actually ended up under the influence of an Akuma?”

Adrien is intimately familiar with that, but feigns ignorance. “You were?”

She nods. “Yeah. It was when that maniac with the bow was flying around everywhere, if you remember that. I actually don’t remember too much, but....I could see the look on Chat Noirs face for a few days afterwards. Whatever I had said or done, it had really hurt him. But he’d come back for me anyway. Even when I was trying to hurt him, he never stopped trying to help. And you deserve somebody like that.”

Her eyes meet his with a slight smile. “Somebody who’ll come back. And I really hope she does, Adrien.”

Adrien has no words. 

And in hindsight, he blames the sunlight. The way it threw the blueish tint of her hair into relief like it was the night sky, the way it shot through her gaze and dusted her eyes a bright blue the way he never saw them when it was light out. He blames the way she’d kissed him when he tried to break the spell on Valintine’s day, and he blames the fact that he’s lonely, and he blames the hand on his arm and his own sheer stupidity.

But, for whatever reason, Adrien ends up kissing her.

Again.

She goes very still, and his head is already screaming that this was likely the worst idea he’d had since daring her that he could make it to the Eiffel tower in one jump. It’s stupid because she’s given him quite literally no indication that she’d at all like to kiss him, and he isn’t even sure he likes her that way, but she’s there and he’s lonely and he kisses her.

And then she kisses back.

Just for a handful of seconds, Ladybug leans into him, relaxes her grip on his arm until her palm is just gently resting against the crook of his elbow. And somehow, the world just seemed inexplicably _right_.

At least, until she pulls away.

Her face is flushed scarlet as she stumbled a few steps backwards, eyes darting frantically around the room. And then guilt starts to set in because that was so, so stupid. Adrien doesn’t even have adjectives for how stupid that was.

“I...I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t-”

“No, no, it was my fault, and…” Ladybug is already halfway out of the window. “And, ah, I should be going now. Like, right now. This second.”

And, with a laugh that’s more choked by nerves than Adrien could have ever imagined, Ladybug swings away.


End file.
